


Spurs and Feathers: A Tale From the Frontier

by Redlance



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Western AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wild West was home to many but friend to none. Survival was the aim and ain’t many folks that managed it. They stumbled through a handful of years only to be caught up in a shoot out or landed with one too many summers without a drop of rain. Is was a miserable place where only the strong survived, but it wasn’t all bad. Sometimes a ray of sunshine broke through the gloom…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : Characters aren't mine. Things would be a lot different if they were.  
>  **A/N** : So I've been thinking about this AU for a long time now. Finally started to write bits down so I'll collect them here. So far the timeline is linear, but I honestly don't know where this is going. Beta'd, but by me. So all mistakes are my own to apologise for.

* * *

The Wild West was home to many but friend to none. Survival was the aim and ain’t many folks that managed it. They stumbled through a handful of years only to be caught up in a shoot out or landed with one too many summers without a drop of rain. Is was a miserable place where only the strong survived, but it wasn’t all bad. Sometimes a ray of sunshine broke through the gloom….

~*~

Chaucer was old. As old as hills baking under the midday sun on the dusty horizon. Bay in colour and broad as a blacksmith, he’d been her constant over the years. Her companion and often the key to her very survival. He may have been past his prime but she’d still bet every last coin in her purse on him outrunning anything that dared try take them on.

His steps were slow now, kicking up plumes of dust as he brought her over the threshold of the town and down the dirt road that ran through the centre of it. It looked no different than all the others she’d passed through; general store, apothecary, a small tailor store. There was a building that brandished a large painted wooden sign that read “Guns and Ammo, always stocked!” above the doorway and it sat across from what could only be the saloon. Arched swinging doors provided little in the way of noise control and piano music drifted out into the evening air as she approached. All the raucous and rowdy sounds she’d expected met her ears as Chaucer trotted parallel to the doors, the distinct sound of glass smashing and a table being overturned causing her to shake her head. 

"Nothing but damn fools, huh boy?" She reached down and patted the horse’s neck. He whickered softly and plodded on, but the sound of the saloon doors being thrown open and something being tossed out into the street was enough to give her pause. She clicked her tongue and Chaucer’s steps immediately halted, then she slowly turned him around. 

She was met with broken howling laughter and two drunken idiots lying in the dirt. The barkeep was already dusting off his hands and making his way back into the saloon, calling out a gruff “sleep it off, boys!” over his shoulder. She watched them as they struggled to their feet, eventually rolling onto their knees and using one another for leverage. They stumbled and laughed, and she pitied them. 

"Well now," one of them slurred and she blinked to clear her mind. They’d turned and were looking at her now, and she stared back from beneath the brim of her hat. Both were larger men, one taller than the other, with scruffy stubble and almost matching handlebar moustaches. The shorter of the two had lost his hat in the scuffle and it lay forgotten a few feet from where they had been so unceremoniously dumped. It was the taller one that spoke now. "Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes." He risked a few steps closer, gait unsteady. "You sees this Enos? Ain’t she a purdy thing?" 

"Sure is, boss." They approached with all the confidence of drunken boys and Chaucer stamped a hoof into the ground impatiently. She only patted his neck again.

"You cut a fine swell up there. Don’t see many of your kind riding ‘round these parts, do we?" Enos shook his head and the motion was so loose she thought that he might lose it altogether. "How’s about you let me up there behind you? Then I can show you how to really ride? Be a real hog-killin’ time." He was close enough now that, if he reach out, he’d be able to touch her horse’s muzzle. But he didn’t and she stayed silent as she waited. "Ain’t much of a talker, are you girl? Well, that’s alright, that’s alright. Save your voice for later." And then he did reach up, towards her leg, and she could tell by the way he dropped that he never in a million years considered the possibility of that boot hitting him square between the eyes. 

But it did. 

He flew backwards and landed on his backside, sliding a foot and a bit across the ground until his upper body dropped bonelessly, out cold. Her dark green eyes darted to Enos and, to the man’s credit, he had enough sense to look surprised. Even more so when he registered the pistol being pointed at him. 

"Don’t see many of your kind running," she said, gesturing towards his rotund midsection with the barrel, "how’s about I help you out with that?" And she cocked the hammer and fired a single shot into the ground at his feet, missing the toes of his boot by a hair. He let out a shriek, turned tail, and took off down the road. She rolled her eyes and holstered her gun. 

"Damned fools." She muttered and Chaucer whickered again.

They moved together down the street, her eyes scanning the buildings and his trained ahead, waiting for a signal to stop. It came at the foot of a two storey establishment that brandished the name “The Warehouse” in bold gold lettering between the upper and lower floor windows. She spent a moment looking up at it and then swung herself down off the horse. A young girl with bright red hair that had been hovering on the porch ran over as her boots hit the ground and she stopped a few paces in front of the rider, blinking up at her with wide eyes.

"Evening." The girl said, giving a small curtsey that didn’t quite fit the pants and shirt she wore. "Name’s Claudia and I’m charged with taking care of the horses here." She gathered up Chaucer’s reins and glanced over at the girl for a long, silent moment. So much so that the redhead began to shift uneasily. 

"Myka." She finally said. "You got water and feed?"

"Yes ma’am." 

"Know how to undo a saddle?"

"Yes ma’am." 

"You gonna brush him down for me?"

"That’ll cost you extra." 

She smirked at the girl and walked Chaucer forward, offering her the reins. Claudia took them without hesitation and watched as the newcomer undid the leather straps of the purse she had tied to her belt. She loosened the opening and slipped her fingers inside, pulling out two coins and handing them to the girl. The redhead’s eyes widened, ever so slightly, then she snapped her hand back and shoved it deep into her pocket as though she were afraid the money might be taken back. 

"You take good care of Chaucer, you hear? He’s very special to me." Claudia nodded and turned away. Myka watched as they disappeared around the side of the building and then made her way inside. 

The interior was unlike anything she’d ever encountered. All dark wood and velvet curtains in a shade of red so deep it seemed lewd just to look at. She entered slowly, eyes roving over the room and its occupants. There were a few tables set in front of a small bar, barely half of what a saloon would offer, but the vast majority took up the plush seating that was scattered about. Men sat with a woman or two close by, though none were touching the girls quite yet. They were all well dressed, even the men, but the women all wore dresses that had to be of the highest quality and Myka counted at least seven in this room alone. More than she could recall ever seeing in a place like this before. 

Not that she’d been in many, just enough to know there was a difference, and none of them had ever looked quite like this. The place was ace-high and there had obviously been no expense spared during the construction. Whoever owned the joint must have had money to burn.

She hung in place for a moment, watching. The low hum of conversation was broken here and there with high laughter from the women and low chuckles from the men. The atmosphere was smoky from cigars and relaxed, and she felt a strange sense of comfort and calm wash over her like a wave. The longer she stood, the higher it seemed to crest. 

"I don’t believe I’ve seen your face here before." When she came out of her reverie she was surprised to find a woman standing in front of her. Dressed to the nines and draped in dark purples and lighter blues, she too was unlike anything she’d seen before. Coal black hair and moonlight-pale features; she looked like no one else in the room or any town she’d ridden through. She didn’t speak like anyone else either.

"I’m new to these parts." Myka said, still a little dumbfounded. The woman gave a curt nod of her head and flashed Myka a brilliant smile, adjusting the fur she had looped over her arms and around her lower back. 

"Indeed you are and especially new to my establishment." That too surprised her.

"Yours?" She asked before she could stop herself. 

"Built with my own two hands." The women lifted her hands and Myka took a moment to run her eyes over them. They lacked any callouses and looked soft and smooth. The woman crinkled her nose and appeared sheepish. "I should rather say that it was built by others under my employ." And then she paused, giving Myka a thorough once over. "My, you’re an unusual sort aren’t you?" The rider’s brow furrowed beneath her hat. 

"Ma’am?" 

"Madame." The woman corrected with a haughty sniff. "Madame Wells. And I only mean that I believe you’re the first female of your kind to walk through my doors and I suspect even this town. It isn’t proper for a lady." She smirked as she said it, teasing and playful, and Myka felt herself react to the sight without consent. 

"I’ve never been much for proper ladylike behaviour." She said and the woman laughed, dark hair shifting over pale shoulders like silk. 

"A thing I do not doubt." Myka returned the smile with a tentative one of her own.

"No disrespect intended ma’am. Madame." She corrected herself quickly and the woman’s dark eyes flashed with something that looked like mischief. "But I’m here for a reason." And they flashed again.

"And what might that be?" Myka cleared her throat, spurs jingling as she shifted her boots.

"Company. For the night, if I may." One of the girls behind them let out a loud burst of laughter, tearing Myka’s attention away for a heartbeat, but when it returned to its former place of resting, the woman was still staring at her. Curious and intrigued. 

"You have the coin for such a request?" Myka thumbed the purse at her belt to make the money inside clink together. The Madame seemed satisfied. "You won’t find any men other than my barkeep under my employ Miss…" 

"Myka, Madame. And that’s just fine, though I confess I only meant that I desire the kind of company involving conversation. For tonight, anyways." Madame Wells peered at her thoughtfully for a few heartbeats after Myka was done speaking and it wasn’t clear to her what the owner of The Warehouse was thinking. Still, she took the opportunity to look at the other woman. Properly.

She really was quite beautiful. Elegant and proper, but she gave off an air that led Myka to suspect that she could hold her own in any situation. Which she’d had to have proven ten times over to get to where she was now. The Madame of her own parlour house, with at least seven girls in her charge, Myka had never heard of such a thing. 

Then, like the clouds parting to reveal the sun, Madame Wells was smiling at her again. And, to Myka’s surprise, she took one gloved hand and rested it against Myka’s upper arm.

"I do believe there’s someone here who will be willing to… Tend to your needs."


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 It was a strange request, she knew that much. To visit such a place and ask for nothing but conversation surely must have been thought close to implausible to the Madame of The Warehouse before Myka's appearance. Perhaps that was why it was the Madame herself that accompanied her now, having captured her curiosity enough for the owner to deem this strange newcomer worthy of her time. After all, it was a rare thing indeed for a Madame to take a client of any kind. They had to be a special sort; handsome, intriguing. Something about Myka had struck a cord with this woman, this Madame Wells, and Myka was thankful that she would have such a pleasant sight to gaze at, should the conversation fall flat.

 

She was guided up a flight of stairs and across a landing where they turned left and were faced with a short corridor that had a single door at the end.

 

"You'll have the pleasure of spending the evening not only in my company," the Madame began, reaching into the folds of her skirt and producing a key, "but in my private room as well." She slid the key into the brass lock and turned it all the way to the left. Myka met her eyes as the woman glanced back over her shoulder. "I do prefer to be comfortable while conversing, don't you?" Unsure as to what to say, Myka merely nodded, hat obscuring her face as she did so. She heard the doorhandle creak and the squeak of old wood and then she was following the woman inside.

 

She stood off to the side as Madame Wells closed the door and locked it from the inside, then slipped the key back into the hidden pocket. She turned towards a low burning kerosene lamp and turned the knob until the flame strengthened, doing the same with two others and brightening the room. Myka was surprised to find it less luxurious than the downstairs, though still high above any other bedroom she'd ever been in. To the right sat a set of two large wooden dressers, huge things that took up the entire wall. Straight ahead there was an immaculate looking oak table and chair set, patterned plates and silver dinnerware set ready for a meal. To the left was the bed, also oak and laden with thick blankets in rich purples, and against the wall behind them now were a pair of armchairs. Nestled close together and with a small table settled in between. Madame Wells turned to face Myka and eyed her strangely for a long moment. The rider stared back, unsure as to what she should do, until the well groomed woman took a step closer.

 

"It is polite to remove your hat when you are in the presence of a lady." Myka hastily reached up and tipped the hat off her head, clutching the brim in her hands in front of her as the Madame of the house continued to close the distance between them. When she was less than a foot away she reached out, sliding her arm through the loop in Myka's and reaching down. The rider felt fingers brush her belt and shift the leather. "And since you shan't be needing this..." Her gun was liberated from its holster and Myka was surprised to find herself unmoved by the action. She was instead focused on the way the woman, the lady, before her held the weapon and expertly removed every last bullet before crossing the room and placing it on the dining table. "To be armed in such an establishment might be taken as an insult." And when she turned she was smiling, small and teasing, and with a glimmer in her eye. Myka felt herself flush and was wholly unprepared for such a response. She had never been flustered a day in her life.

 

"I... I mean no disrespect, ma'am. Madame." Again Myka corrected herself with such haste the action was comical and the other woman laughed with a shake of her head.

 

"Such slips and trips could lead to a fall that might leave you... Somewhat damaged." Wells quipped and Myka's lips curved up at the corners at the Madame's tone. She was quite unlike any woman Myka had ever encountered, a certainty proved in a handful of minutes; a rarity in itself.

 

"Then perhaps I should speak no further and simply listen." She retorted, eyebrow cocked as she dropped her hat onto the small table set between the chairs.

 

"And what is it that you would like to hear, Myka?" Her name sounded strange as it passed foreign lips, coated in a thick and unfamiliar accent. But it was pleasant and for whatever reason, it warmed her. The Madame took a seat at the small table and gestured for Myka to do the same.

 

"Anything you wish to tell me." She confessed, easing down into the armchair across from the other woman. "Perhaps we might start with a name?" The crisp, clear sound of unexpected laughter startled her and she blinked at Madame Wells owlishly.

 

"You have as much of my name as any of the patrons who have passed through my doors and you shall be given no more of it." Scalded, Myka dropped her gaze to the tabletop. She felt her cheeks burning and was unsettled by the development, utterly unused to the feeling. She couldn't recall a time since childhood where she had *blushed*. However the Madame drew no attention towards it, instead reaching for a crystal decanter resting against the wall at their side that was flanked by two glasses. She pulled the stopper and poured a double shot of amber liquid into both glasses then slid one across the table to Myka.

 

"Thank you." She said quietly, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a sip. The Madame mimicked her motions and for a few seconds, the room was silent.

 

Myka's eyes scanned her immediate vicinity; the shadows thrown against the wall by lamp, the smooth surface of the table top, elegantly slender hands curled around a glass. She took another sip.

 

"For one who desires conversation, you're a rather quiet sort." The Madame commented, tone riddled with dry amusement. Myka's lips twitched into a smile and she glanced up to meet eyes that flickered like black gold in the dim light.

 

"Anyone ever told you you're the kinda woman that can leave a gal at sea?" She was rewarded with a smile that was much different than those that had come before it. A smirk that sent a thrill so wild through her it might have shook the table.

 

"A number of those wayward ladies. As well as a few men." Myka chuckled, feeling a little more at ease despite the edge on which this woman had set her, and downed the rest of her drink in one smooth motion. She made a face and set the glass back on the table, calloused fingers twirling it by its rim.

 

"Do you read, Madame?" The woman's expression changed abruptly, confidence rapidly shifting to surprise before she could catch herself. She stared at Myka in silence, a small frown creasing her brow and painted lips parted in a way that should have been humorous but somehow remained alluring.

 

"Yes." She said simply and at length, once Myka had convinced herself that the woman was done speaking for the evening altogether. "I do indeed read. Any respectable Madame is to be well educated."

 

"Is that the only reason?" Myka lay the bottom of the glass flat against the table but kept her fingers grasping at the rim. She glanced up as she asked, eyeing the woman from beneath her lashes. "So you'll be respectable?"

 

"Your question boasts a familiarity with me which you do not yet possess." Wells warned and Myka relinquished her grip on the glass. "I would suggest you mind your tone."

 

"My apologies, Madame. You'll forgive me if I act in a manner unbefitting a woman of your stature." And maybe it was the amber swimming in her veins, loosening her lips and relaxing her shoulders. Bringing back the cocky air that hung around her at high noon. "Ain't used to such high class company." The Madame gave a haughty sniff and then reached for the decanter again, pouring Myka another glass and topping off her own.

 

"Then it is a blessing that manners can be taught." She quipped, pressing the stopper back into place and lifting the glass into the air. She held her pose for a moment before Myka caught on to what exactly she was waiting for and she hastily raised her own glass. They clinked together, an uncomfortable sound that hurt Myka's ears, and then she watched the Madame down the double shot in a single swallow. Slapping the glass back to the table, she caught Myka's gaze and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Surprised?” She asked and Myka had never heard anyone turn a single word into a high-stakes dare before.

 

“Impressed.” Was the simple offer with which she replied and the Madame seemed content with the answer.

 

“Being the Madame of such a high class establishment requires me to maintain a certain image.” She began to explain and Myka found herself captivated by the way the other woman's lips parted and curved as she spoke, the cadence and lilt to each and every word regardless of tone. “I’m expected to behave in a certain way and conduct myself in a respectable manner. I’ve made a name for myself by working under such conditions and they are ones set by no one but myself. There is no man to whom I answer. I am my own woman.” She spoke the words proudly, smugly; a woman who had climbed the rungs of life's ladder and come out on top. A feat that less than few accomplished. The Madame stood then, the hem of her dress trailing against the floor as she crossed it and bent to pull out the middle drawer of the dresser. “However, though that is the person I allow others to see,” she retrieved something from the back corner and then closed it again, turning and making her way back to the table. “That does not mean that person is all that I am.” She took her seat once more and placed something on the table in front of Myka. It was a book.

 

And it was the strangest thing; Myka's instinct was to reach for the book, to touch it and prove its tangibility, but she could not. She was frozen, from the roots of her hair to the soles of her shoes. Her eyes roved the cover and the words printed on it, and she finally found the ability to lift her attention from it and seek out Madame Wells. And when she met her gaze, Myka felt her heart constrict unusually, painfully, inside her chest.

 

“I've left a trail of dust at the threshold of countless towns,” Myka said quietly, afraid that now she'd found her words they might disappear again if she spoke any louder, “and I've left sleeping women in just as many empty bed,” the Madame showed no outward signs of a reaction to her words, only continued watching Myka. Listening. “Ain't one of them ever show me an honest to God book. Not a single one. Weren't a handful of them that could even read.” She didn't bother to filter the awe out of her voice, wasn't sure she could have even if she'd tried. She just held the woman's dark-eyed gaze and spoke without thinking. “You some kinda angel? Sent from the heavens to converse with my sorry self?” Wells scoffed, apparently unmoved by the words, and poured herself another drink.

 

“Hardly. I was put on this soil for no one person.” She took a draw from the glass, staring thoughtfully into its bottom as she swallowed, and Myka finally found the strength to lift her hands and touch the binding. “Still, it would appear as though I am here now, and what with your previous luck being rather appalling in terms of finding a decent sort to share an evening with,” and Madame Wells reached out then, taking hold of Myka's hand in one of her own. The rider's body tensed and her eyes darted to the other woman's face. Her breathing stalled and then restarted, unsteady and low, as her hand was moved towards the edge of the cover and manoeuvred in a way that flipped the book open to the first page. “I suggest you take advantage of your good fortune.”

 

Her hand was released, but her gaze was not. And Myka found that she could not help but agree with the Madame's words.   


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

They spoke of many things that night. Mostly unimportant and trivial, but when discussing literature Myka found the other woman to be as serious and passionate as she herself was. It was refreshing and utterly alien, to speak with someone who understood and didn't act as though books were written in an entirely new language. Madame Wells was a bold woman, unconcerned with the opinion of others, and so too were her own opinions; voiced without a care for consequence. Myka would have happily sat back and listened to them in all their melodic verbosity, but the madame would not allow her to be silent for too long.

 

“You have paid for conversation yet you do very little in the way of aiding my attempts.”

 

“I like hearing you talk.”

 

As the hours had crept by them and the whisky had continued to disappear and reappear in her glass, Myka's words had flowed more freely, more easily, and the madame had less and less reason to scold her. Still, though she was still a far ways from being an ace-high conversationalist, she found herself speaking of things that she usually would not speak of during the sober light of day.

 

“I had a home once.” She offered with no prompting, long after the hour had turned late.

 

“Once?” Madame Wells asked, thumb brushing back and forth over the star emblazoned ring on her right hand. “What became of it?” Myka offered a shrug and nothing more for a little while, and no attempt was made to coerce her into speaking further until she was ready. The madame seemed content to wait.

 

“Might still be standing. Might be nothing but dust and charcoal. Alls I know is I’ll never know for sure, because I ain't ever going back there.” Myka downed the remainder of her shot and placed it back atop the table. She misjudged the distance, letting go of it too soon, and it clattered nosily against the wood as it tumbled onto its side. She chuckled drunkenly as the madame righted, a small smile curving her painted lips, and leaned back heavily in her chair. The old wood creaked beneath the upholstery.

 

“Am I to assume then that the relationship with whomever you left behind was a far sight less than spectacular?” The laugh that left Myka was a bark of alcohol fuelled amusement.

 

“Ain't no relationship to speak of.” She hooked her pointer finger over the rim of the glass and tipped it towards herself, rolling it to and fro on its rounded bottom. “Pa's a cattle farmer, a real man's man. He never got no boys from my Ma, just me and my sister. Never forgave any of us for that.” She rolled her eyes at an unseen memory and Madame Wells let out a noise of disgust at the implication. “We ain't ever seen eye to eye me and him. Not from the day I was born to the day I left a trail of dust at his door.” The momentum of the glass began to slow and she gave the side closest to her thumb a little nudge to get it going again. “When I was twelve he arranged for both our marriages, my sister's and mine. She was to be wed to a banker from the nearest town who Pa had attended church with. He came for dinner one night so that we all might get a good look at Tracy's soon to be husband and he was just like I’d imagined he would be. Obviously well to do, handsome,” she let the glass drop and levelled the other woman with with an amused, almost flirtatious gaze, “boring.” The Madame laughed, real and bright, and Myka's body hummed at the sound of it.

  
“And who was to be your intended?” She asked around a full smile, a smile that Myka could not help but return.

 

“He”, she began very slowly, pointedly, “was a pig farmer. And I'd have become a grass window quicker than he could have hucked his slop to his swine.” The madame laughed again, throwing her head back and knocking loose a handful of strands of hair. Myka watched them fall with rapt attention, lingering unabashed at the smooth, pale expanse of the madame's neck where it fell to rest. The other woman tutted in annoyance when she realised and reached up to where the rest of her hair was gathered away from her face. With the pulling of a few clips it all came tumbling down like a rolling wave of black ink and Myka was struck by a sudden and overwhelming urge to touch. To feel tresses the colour of midnight slip between her fingers, curl around them. And along with that came the altered visage of the woman; she appeared no less elegant in her beauty, Myka would wager that the affects of it would remain long after they were all gone from the world, but there was a difference now. A striking change that Myka could neither explain nor find a word for. She somehow appeared less like the madame of her own house and more like a woman. Just a woman. Yet so much more.

 

“Myka, you're staring.” She blinked a handful of times at the statement and let out an airy laugh that was bordered by an unthinkably sheepish smile. She would have a lot to curse the liquor for come morning.

 

“I 'spose I am.” She remarked, a slight slur to her words. “Ain't nothing you're not used to though.” The madame bowed her head in agreement, eyelashes fluttering in a manner that was terribly exaggerated and Myka laughed again at the playfulness of the woman.

 

And it suddenly struck her that she had had so very few reasons to laugh or smile over the last few years. The West was littered with danger and misery and even though the sun shone hot enough to turn your whole body slick, there was little shine to break through the gloom.

 

And then there was this woman. A woman from whom Myka did not even have a first name and yet she felt as though that which she hand received was so much more. Indescribably more.

 

“I thought you to be different.” The madame sighed in a fashion so dramatic that had the teasing of it been any less obvious it would have been sickening. “Interested in me for my mind, rather than what lies beneath my clothes.” Myka gaze drooped at that, down the curve of the woman's neck and stopping at the locket that hovered just above her breasts.

 

“I find you fascinating.” The confession came at the tail end of a pause, Myka's attention returning to a face she was finding increasingly more difficult to turn away from. “Don't mean I can't admire the view.” She blew out a slow breath, vision spinning just a little. “Especially one so... so...”

 

“Stunning?” Madame Wells offered, appearing more than happy to help. “Beautiful? Radiant?” Myka's smirk drew a curved line across her features.

 

“Modest.” And again the woman laughed. Myka shifted in her seat and opened her mouth to say more but the motion hit her strangely and she almost slipped to the floor.

 

“Perhaps it's time I put you to bed.” Myka blinked unevenly at the woman at her side; she hadn't seen her move. A hand was offered to her and she grasped it, marvelling simultaneously at the softness and strength she found beneath her palm. With the madame's help she was able to get to her feet, though they were unsteady against the wooden boards. She wasn't of a mind to argue and so she allowed herself to be led out of the room and back along the hallway. The other woman had unabashedly pulled Myka against her side and held her there with an arm wound around her waist, one of Myka's thrown across delicate shoulders.

 

After a length of time that was indeterminable to Myka, they arrived at another room. This one was unlocked and as the handle was turned the door swung open and Myka was walked over the threshold. Had she had the presence of mind to notice such things, she would have noted that this room was more sparsely furnished. Nothing more than a bed and a small table atop which sat an empty porcelain bowl and jug. The bed was still far more lavish than she was used to though and she sank heavily into it when the madame deposited her there as gently as she could. Then she pulled off Myka's boots and set them beside the bed.

 

“My gun.” Myka mumbled, eyes bleary and half obscured by their lids.

 

“It will be quite safe in my company until you wake. At which point you are welcome to find me and retrieve it.” Satisfied, Myka let her eyes flutter as a thick blanket made from the hide of some great beast was pulled across her body and smoothed out. When she felt the woman begin to draw away she reached without thinking, closing a hand around her arm. The madame stopped abruptly, glancing down at the hand on her and then at Myka. She idly wondered what might have happened to her hand had it belonged to someone else.

 

“Thank you.” She muttered, voice groggy from alcohol and the murky tendrils of sleep that pulled at her. The woman stared at her strangely for a few moments before her gaze seemed to soften, and she smiled.

 

“It was my pleasure.”

 

When she awoke, head leaden with the weight of all she'd drank the night before, the sun was hanging much higher in the sky than it had been when she'd been to eagerly tugged towards slumber. Her mouth felt thick and dry, like cotton, and it she found it was an effort just to swallow. The blankets that had kept her warm whilst she slept were now stifling and she tossed them from her, using her legs to kick them away. She lay still in the unfamiliar room afterwards, staring lazily at the ceiling as she allowed her body and mind the time it required to fully awaken. She hadn't imbibed so much that her memory had been wiped clean of recent events and as she recalled the myriad conversations she cursed the amber liquid that had allowed them to transpire. She felt foolish, though knew she had no real reason to, and was certain that the madame would no doubt remember the way Myka had carried on about the most unimportant things. The books and literature were an entirely different entity when compared with things she had done as a child.

 

So it was with a heavy dose of chagrin that Myka rose from the bed, slipped into her boots and tidied the covers, then exited the room. She recalled the journey to the madame's room and retraced her steps until she was once more standing before the door. And she continued to stand, unsure of how to proceed until she was certain someone would surely stumble across her soon and make her out to be even more of a buffoon. She curled her hand into a fist and rapped her knuckles against the door. When no answer came she tried again, finally trying the handle when silenced continued to be the only response.

 

“You are aware it is a crime to break into another person's home, are you not?” Myka spun around at the voice and her eyes landed on the very vision she had set out in search of. Clothed in a different dress and with her hair perfectly pinned in place once more, she was regarding Myka with a wry smile and the rider felt her heart inexplicably stutter at the sight.

 

“Forgive me, Madame.” Myka said with a bow of her head, a motion that felt strange while she was absent her hat. “I was only-”

 

“Myka.” The woman interrupted, the cadence of her uttering as effective as a stunning slap to the face. “I'm merely playing the fool.” A smile flashed across Myka's lips but it disappeared as Madame Wells brushed by her to unlock the door, too focused was she on her breathing to keep up appearances.

 

The room remained the same as it had been hours before, brighter perhaps, and her gun was exactly where it had been left, her hat sat neatly next to it. The madame moved to the table and took hold of the gun, turning to Myka who had continued to approach from behind. The rider reached out to take it but her hand was ignored, the madame choosing to rather repeat the actions of the night before, though this time in reverse. She slipped the gun back into its holster, hand brushing Myka's hip in the process and causing the taller woman's body to twitch involuntarily. Glancing down, she thought she had caught the madame smiling but she had turned away before Myka could be sure and when she spun back with the hat now in her hands all traces were gone.

 

“You mustn't forget this.” She raised her hands to place the hat atop wild, curly hair and just like that, Myka was transfixed. By dark eyes and pale skin, and a face so lovely it left her feeling weak and shaken. And they were now the closest that they had ever been, the only exception being the drunken walk she had been aided in that morning, and Myka was finding the proximity far more intoxicating than any liquor. “I feel it rather solidifies your rugged appearance.” Myka's lips twitched, unable to remain steady long enough for any more than that as the other woman's fingers dropped from the brim of her hat to Myka's face and stayed there.

 

Myka's breath hitched and held, then evaporated into nothingness as dark eyes swam closer.

 

The kiss was chaste, brief, a fluttering of lips on lips and yet the impression it left was deep and instantaneous. Soul-shifting and almost innocent. And then it was over and Myka's eyes opened only when the madame spoke once more, her hands fading from Myka's face like a ghost.

 

“Something to remember me by,” she said simply, “should you pass by this way again.”

 

And Myka knew. She could wander through a thousand towns and see the faces of a thousand different people.

 

But she would not forget.

 


End file.
